Author's Notes: Another oldie. The second story I ever released to the world. More of a parody, I suppose... probably of children's stories...

*ahem* 'Tis my story. Yes? Yes.

Mumba Yaga

In a dark, dark wood a house resides, by a rust red stream and shadowed by dead trees. The forest is a place of decomposition, decripit, dank, dismal, and dying. Any happy, burbling stream that runs through the forest tastes of blood. No grass or ferns grow in the dead wood, only thorns and nettles. The house, however, is a pleasant yellow and rather cozy. The only people who live there are twelve little children and an old person named Mumba Yaga.

"Mumba Yaga! Mumba Yaga!" The children cry. It is late at night but, fortunately, Mumba Yaga is awake.

"What is it, my dears?" Mumba Yaga asks.

"Alan is gone!" A child cries, very frightened.

"He was ate by the Devil!" Mumba Yaga replies.

"And take to Hell, Mumba Yaga?" A child asks.

"Yes, my dear," Mumba Yaga sighs. "Come to the kitchen and we'll drink a milk and ate a cookie."

"Yay!" The children cry, and all run into the kitchen to drink a milk and ate a cookie.

"Tell us a story, Mumba Yaga." A child says, munching a cookie.

"Oh, why not?" Mumba Yaga laughs.

"Yay!" The children cry, and all run into the living room to listen to a story. Mumba Yaga sits in an old rocking chair by the fire.

"What shall I tell?" Mumba Yaga asks.

"An angel story!" A girl cries.

"A monster story!" A boy yells.

"An animal story!" Another girl screams.

"A hero story!" Another boy shrieks.

"Calm, calm," Mumba Yaga says, not raising voice, and the children quiet, waiting impatiently. "A story 'bout the Devil."

"Oooooo!" The children gasp.

"The Devil is also known as Lucifer or Father O' Lies." Mumba Yaga continues.

"What's he look like?" A child inquires curiously.

"He's skinny an' tall but very strong an' agile. He has horns on his forehead an' a long, forked tail."

"Like you, Mumba Yaga?"

"Why, so it is, I never would had thought it."

"What else?" The children ask.

"His skin is red as fire an' he has cloven hooves 'stead o' feet an' very long, sharp teeth."

"Like you, Mumba Yaga?"

"Why, so it is, I never would had thought it."

"What else?" The children ask.

"He has long, claw-like nails, smokes a pipe an' he always has a pitchfork in his left a hand."

"Like you, Mumba Yaga?"

"Why, so it is, I never would had thought it."

"What else?" The children ask.

"Every night he goes an' gobble a child, skin an' bones' an' all!"

"Oooooo!" The children gasp.

"But only the good child he leave alone, the bad he ate!"

"Oooooo!" The children gasp.

"You look like a Devil," a child says. "But you don't gobble up a child."

"So I'm not the Devil?" Mumba Yaga asks.

"NO! You're not a Devil!" The children laugh.

"My, my, look at the time, it's time for a bed!" Mumba Yaga exclaims.

"Awwwww!" The children groan.

"Off you go." Mumba Yaga says, shooing away the last straggler. As soon as the deep breathing of sleep came from twelve, now eleven, small chests, Mumba Yaga relaxed into the old rocking chair by the fire. picking up an ornate wood pipe, Mumba Yaga, also known as Lucifer, Father of Lies, lights it and begins to puff. He glances at his red-skinned hand and long fingernails. He twitches his forked tail and shifts his cloven hooves. Setting aside his pichfork, he bares his long, sharp teeth in a grin-or the semblance of one-and ponders a question that has haunted him all day; Which of the brats should I eat this night?